


Go With The Flow

by Namelonbun



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe - College/University, Developing Relationship, Eventual Smut, Fluff, Foreign Student!Oikawa, Local College Boy!Iwaizumi, Love Confessions, M/M, Misunderstandings, Sexual Content, Strangers to Lovers, Study Abroad Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-07
Updated: 2020-08-07
Packaged: 2021-03-06 04:48:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,760
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25767703
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Namelonbun/pseuds/Namelonbun
Summary: When Iwaizumi signed up for the volunteer study-abroad-pairing program at his university, he thought it would be fun. It's supposed to be easy and low-maintenance, a small commitment in showing someone around.Well, he got assigned Oikawa Tooru as his partner.
Relationships: Iwaizumi Hajime/Oikawa Tooru
Comments: 8
Kudos: 62





	Go With The Flow

When Iwaizumi signed up for the volunteer study-abroad-pairing program at his university, he thought it would be fun. The program is designed to help incoming study abroad students or exchange students settle when they arrive to Japan by pairing each foreign student with a native student from the university. It’s a recent effort made by the university to increase its international appeal and pose itself as the better study abroad option in Tokyo among its competitors.

Despite its novelty, the program is apparently popular and, from what Iwaizumi has heard, low-maintenance. Even though the role description says volunteers should expect to act as guides to their assigned partners and requires volunteers to show their partners at least two places in person, most volunteers simply end up being a point of contact for their partners. The program formally connects students together, but it seems the students themselves determine the depth of the relationship.

Iwaizumi has heard both salacious and horror stories about encounters between volunteers and their assigned partners. Some volunteers liked their partners just fine—or more to have hooked up—and some hated who they were paired with, citing their partners as cultural nightmares. It didn’t seem like there was a middle ground, unless Iwaizumi counts those who didn’t even do the bare minimal and essentially ghosted their partner, which he finds shitty. 

The program only lasts for a semester each round (since that’s how long the foreign students tend to stay) and doesn’t recycle volunteers again without asking for their permission, so a volunteer could try it out one semester and quit the next.

It sounds like a small commitment but with much to gain. Iwaizumi thought he could expand his cultural awareness, learn a thing or two, and meet someone outside his bubble. After finishing half of college, he has become so set in his groove and content with his handful of close friends, hardly putting himself out there anymore, that he could use a little excitement to shake up his routine. And it didn’t escape Iwaizumi that he went through his unchanging schedule of volleyball practice then classes then schoolwork then bed like clockwork, his supposedly fun college life nearly a bore.

That’s why when he was filling out the personality questionnaire that would match him with someone, he checked off that he liked spontaneity and adventure— _to an extent_ , which was what he wanted to add but it was a damn dichotomous question. Several of them were like that and by the end of the questionnaire, Iwaizumi had been too tired to rethink his answers and submitted what he had, hoping he would just get paired with someone interesting. 

Then right before the school year started, Iwaizumi received an email detailing the name of his assigned partner and some basic information. _Oikawa Tooru_ , Iwaizumi had read, thinking the name sounded Japanese, and saw that he was from the States, California specifically, and a third year like him. It wasn’t much to go off of, so he wasn’t sure what to expect of Oikawa.

Well, Iwaizumi got what he wanted.

The moment he first saw Oikawa Tooru at the agreed-upon coffee shop, he thought: _fuck, he’s gorgeous._ Iwaizumi had to do a double take to make sure he was looking at the right person and not some attractive rando. And when he got closer, his eyes widened as he realized that Oikawa is mixed—a hafu, from the looks of it.

While Oikawa looks predominantly Japanese, there are nuances in his appearance that suggest he’s a blend of something else too. He seems like a paradigm of mixed beauty at its finest, blessed with the attractive features from both sides of his heritage as if looks were meant to be under his belt. His high cheekbones and rich brown locks, which shine a milk chocolate color in the light, stand out against his delicate, oriental features.

But perhaps what captivates Iwaizumi the most is Oikawa’s eyes; they’re angled but large and expressive, bearing an equally rich brown color. But when they immediately turned to him, sizing him up, Iwaizumi felt like he was being tested and glared back.

So much for a good first impression.

And after meeting up with Oikawa a few times, Iwaizumi concludes that his overwhelming good looks are a front for what’s rotten underneath, as if making up for his personality. Yet despite Oikawa’s lesser personality, Iwaizumi finds himself surprisingly getting along with him.

Maybe that’s why he continues to show Oikawa around.

**________________**

School starts, and Iwaizumi takes Oikawa to the spring Club Fair.

It’s a school-wide event that happens on the first Saturday of each semester, and all student organizations on campus are present, hungry to recruit new members. The entire track field is transformed for the event with rows of white tents set up, various club attractions or signs propped outside. Students are bustling everywhere, and Iwaizumi grabs two flyer maps from a nearby student organizer, handing one to Oikawa.

“Hey, so the clubs are split up into sections and color-coded.” Iwaizumi points to each area respectively on the map as he explains, “Section A is for the sports clubs, B for the cultural clubs, C for the—”

“Iwa-chan,” Oikawa cuts in, rolling his eyes, “I know how to read a map.”

Iwaizumi shoots him a wry look. “You struggle with reading the campus directory. Sorry for being unconvinced.”

“Hey!” Oikawa exclaims, pouting. “That’s different, campus is massive and the directions get confusing. But it’s okay,” he says, smiling cheekily at Iwaizumi, “because I have you to help me, right?” It’s a rhetorical question, but Iwaizumi manages to snort before Oikawa continues, tapping a spot on the map, “Let’s go check out the food clubs! I bet they have free samples.”

“Yeah, sure.” Iwaizumi leans over, drawing a circular route to where Oikawa’s finger is. “We can make a circle and see everything along the way.” He puts his map away into the black fanny pack slung across his chest and jerks his head to the left. “Let’s start with sports first. I want to stop by the volleyball club and say hi.”

“Oh! Do you play, Iwa-chan?”

They start moving towards the sports section, walking side-by-side as they weave their way through the cluttered walkways. Even though they came early, hoping to avoid the crowds, it seems their efforts were futile. There are so many students here already and when Iwaizumi sees someone walking straight towards them, distracted by their phone, he absentmindedly steps closer to Oikawa to let them pass on the side.

“Yeah, I’m on the starting team,” Iwaizumi says, a feeling of pride sweeping over him, “been playing volleyball since high school.” He glances at Oikawa curiously, returning the question. “Do you play any sports?”

Oikawa makes a humming noise. “No, sports isn’t for me,” he replies, then looks away as his attention shifts onto a girl who’s handing out something in front of them. “I wonder what she’s giving out. Be right back!”

As Oikawa dashes ahead to the girl, Iwaizumi pauses and gives his body a once-over, feeling doubtful about his earlier statement. Oikawa clearly has an athletic build. With his given height, something that Iwaizumi feels vaguely envious of, and long limbs, Oikawa could fare well in any sport he applies himself to, especially those that involve running and jumping. Because Oikawa’s wearing shorts, Iwaizumi can see his toned calves and recognizes the power in them. No one gets those kinds of calves without deliberate effort, so maybe Oikawa—

“Hey, Iwa-chan!”

Suddenly hearing his name—well, nickname—startles Iwaizumi, breaking his train of thought, and he snaps his head back up just in time to meet Oikawa’s gaze.

“What?” Iwaizumi asks. It comes out a little panicked, as if he had been caught staring.

Oikawa returns to his side and grins, dropping something into his hand. “Look what I got us, isn’t it cute?”

Iwaizumi looks down at the item; it’s a sticker of a rising wave with the words ‘go with the flow’ written in bubble letters at the bottom, a handout surely from the swim club. The ‘go with the flow’ motto catches his attention, and Iwaizumi thinks it’s cliché but somehow very fitting, finding it relatable to his own attitude in a way.

“Yeah, it is. Thanks.” He grins and safely tucks the sticker into his fanny pack before gesturing around them. “Did you see anything you’re interested in?”

“Actually, yeah,” Oikawa says, his eyes taking on an excited glint, “the swim club is giving away some cool stuff with their raffle wheel. And I saw sunscreen! I could really use some right now, so I wanna go get it.”

“Wait, what? That’s not what I meant.” Iwaizumi raises a brow as he asks, “Aren’t you looking for clubs to join?”

That’s the whole point of why they’re here, not to stockpile on free swag—although, free swag does seem to be a strong motivator for many students who come. Iwaizumi isn’t interested in joining anything so he’s here primarily for Oikawa’s sake, and besides with his commitment to volleyball, he doesn’t have room for another extracurricular. Classes and volleyball drain his hours as they are and any spare time that he has left, he prefers to spend it on lazing around in sweats.

Oikawa laughs, waving a hand flippantly. “I am, don’t worry, Iwa-chan. It’s just,” his expression becomes pinched as he huffs, “I forgot to put on sunscreen this morning, and I’m suffering already. I think the sun is harsher here.”

“What do you mean?” Iwaizumi furrows his brows and flashes a glance upwards, briefly shielding his eyes with a hand. “The sun hasn’t changed. It’s still partly covered.”

“Silly, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa says, “that’s not what I’m talking about. My fair beauty comes at a price, not all of us can last in the sun and be wonderfully sun-kissed like you—don’t laugh!” He huffs and gingerly touches the bridge of his nose as if assessing the skin. “I have to put on like three layers of sunscreen or else I’m gonna look like a strawberry or worse, peel.” Oikawa makes a face at that.

Now that Oikawa pointed it out, Iwaizumi notices the top of his nose and cheeks beginning to develop a light pink hue. The color is subtle but against his pasty complexion, it makes Oikawa look like he’s slowly starting to blush or get embarrassed, a sight that Iwaizumi finds amusing and at odds with his pompous image of Oikawa. Then the thought of Oikawa turning an unflattering red, looking less than the stellar appearance that he prides himself in, enters Iwaizumi’s mind and makes him chuckle. He would want to see that. Oikawa narrows his eyes at him, and he tries to hide his amusement, biting back a grin.

“Okay, I get it,” Iwaizumi says, his lips twitching up. “Go get the sunscreen then. Good luck, your chances might be low.”

“I’m not worried.” Oikawa smirks, a scheming glint appearing in his eyes. “If I can’t win it, I’ll get it another way.”

“Don’t steal it, Shittykawa.”

“That’s not what I was thinking!” Oikawa covers his heart with a hand, feigning offence. “How could you think so lowly of me, Iwa-chan? I am a good person with pure intentions.” He smiles innocently.

Iwaizumi rolls his eyes, having spent enough time in Oikawa’s presence to know better. “If you say so,” he says. “Anyway, I’ll go to the volleyball tent. Meet me there when you’re done?”

Oikawa nods and chirps, “Sounds good. I’ll be right there.” Then he’s off again, moving back towards the swim club.

Iwaizumi remains unmoving for a moment before he decides to follow Oikawa, curiosity urging him on. He stops outside the swim tent and watches Oikawa try his luck, and judging by his disappointed look, it’s a bust. Iwaizumi thinks that’s the end of it, but then a charismatic smile emerges on Oikawa’s face as he leans closer to the girl supervising the raffle wheel, his body language telling.

The scene is familiar, and Iwaizumi shakes his head in disbelief as he watches Oikawa flirt. Apparently, that’s the secret tactic Oikawa alluded to.

Maybe it has something to do with cultural differences or some natural tendency, but Oikawa is unabashed about flirting. He shows none of the shyness that a typical Japanese guy their age tends to have about approaching others; instead, he oozes a charm that goes hand-in-hand with his looks, making him seemingly irresistible and hard to deny.

And the annoying part is, Oikawa damn well knows it too. He seems to have no qualms about leveraging his appeal. In a short span of time, Iwaizumi has seen enough instances where Oikawa flaunted his charm and gained whatever he was aiming for, like extra whipped cream on a drink or a cheaper price. Right now is another example.

A profuse blush appears on the girl’s cheeks, and Iwaizumi recognizes the sign, knows Oikawa’s going to succeed and come back with a triumphant smile, sunscreen in hand. Not interested in confirming it, he turns and heads over to the volleyball tent.

There’s only one person tabling at the moment, and he looks bored out of his mind, his eyes half-lidded. But then again, that is also Hanamaki’s default face. He’s lazily reclining in his chair, tapping a pen against the sign-up sheet, but when he notices Iwaizumi approaching, he straightens up and grins widely.

“Sup, Iwaizumi,” Hanamaki greets. “What are you doing here?”

“Hey, Hanamaki. Just dropping by.” Iwaizumi grins and exchanges a crisp high-five with him before he asks, “Where’s Matsukawa? Isn’t he supposed to be here with you?”

“Yeah, but he’s running late.” Hanamaki slouches over the table, sighing as he rests his cheek on a palm. “So for now, I’m stuck here with double duties. It’s not bad but,” he asks, jokingly, “save me? Don’t think I can handle another hyped-up first year.”

Iwaizumi chuckles. “Sorry, can’t. I’m here with Oikawa.”

At the mention of the flamboyant foreign student, Hanamaki perks up. “Oh hey, Oikawa’s here? Where is he?”

“By the swim club, flirting,” Iwaizumi deadpans. “I’m helping him find clubs to join, but he got sidetracked. I swear whoever paired me up with him is trying to test my patience.”

Hanamaki snickers. “Oikawa is a handful,” he says knowingly. “But cheer up, Iwaizumi, he’s not that bad.”

Iwaizumi snorts, looking pointedly at Hanamaki. “Easy for you to say. You don’t have to deal with him being a pain in the ass.”

“Yeah, but to be fair, I’m not the one who had a mid-college crisis and thought showing foreigners around was the answer,” Hanamaki retorts, smirking. He points his pen at Iwaizumi. “You signed up for it.”

“Shut up,” Iwaizumi grumbles. “It seemed like a good idea at the time. But I didn’t think I would get paired with someone like Oikawa.” He thought he would get someone low-maintenance, which is the opposite of what Oikawa is.

“Well,” Hanamaki drawls, “I think you lucked out. Oikawa might be exactly what you need.” At Iwaizumi’s confused look, he waves his pen around and says, “Oikawa seems fun and you could loosen up a bit, have more fun, you know? You’re like the old man in the group.”

“What?!" Iwaizumi splutters, finding the insult ridiculous as he narrows his eyes at Hanamaki. “How am I like an old man?”

“Easy.” Hanamaki grins, his tone playfully mocking as he begins to list reasons off his fingers. “You hardly break away from routine. You eat so much tofu, especially agedashi tofu. You don’t stay late drinking with me and Mattsun anymore. You go to bed at, what, ten? Even on weekends if we don’t bug you, like come on.”

Iwaizumi opens his mouth to protest but nothing comes out, his mind turning up blank for a snarky comeback. All of those are pretty spot-on, and he can’t deny them. Damn Hanamaki, he knows him too well.

“I’m just saying,” Hanamaki continues, shrugging and saving Iwaizumi the trouble, “I think Oikawa balances you out, considering how extra he is. Maybe you guys got paired because of personality differences? Something like that.” He sounds causal but his words come out thoughtful, bringing up a perspective that Iwaizumi hasn’t considered.

“Huh, that’s a good point,” Iwaizumi admits, sounding a bit impressed. Now that he thinks about it, he and Oikawa do seem to be polar opposites, and perhaps that’s why Oikawa can rile him up in ways that no one else has.

“Right?” Hanamaki leans back in his chair, looking pleased with himself. “Consider Oikawa a blessing in disguise. For me, he is one. He keeps me entertained in class so I have to give him credit.”

“I’ll keep that in mind the next time he irks me,” Iwaizumi says dryly.

Hanamaki chuckles. “I’m sure he’ll grow on you.”

“Yeah, maybe.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Iwaizumi notices movement and turns to see a fresh-faced boy, most likely a first year, walk in with an anxious gait and stop behind him. He must be waiting for his turn to talk to Hanamaki about volleyball, and Iwaizumi thinks that’s his cue to go. Sparing a couple more words, he wraps it up with Hanamaki and flashes the boy an encouraging smile on his way out. 

After stepping outside the volleyball tent, Iwaizumi checks his watch, noting that while there’s still plenty of time left to explore the fair, he and Oikawa should get a move on. Wondering where he is, Iwaizumi glances around, his eyes scanning for that head with brown flared-up hair, and then spots Oikawa a few feet away, his side profile visible. He’s about to call out to him but stops when he notices the strange expression on Oikawa’s face.

Head tilted downwards, Oikawa is staring intently at something with a knitted brow, biting his lip, his eye unreadable. Iwaizumi doesn’t know what to make of the expression and from where he’s standing, he can’t see what has Oikawa’s attention like that. Bewildered yet intrigued, he creeps up on Oikawa and looks over his shoulder, inwardly glad that he doesn’t have to stand on his tippy-toes to do so. 

The bold characters of _Come Join Volleyball Club!_ meet him, and Iwaizumi instantly recognizes the volleyball recruitment poster, having helped distribute several across campus. The poster is eye-catching with its array of colors and showcases last season’s volleyball highlights with accompanying pictures and the schedule for walk-on tryouts, which is where Iwaizumi assumes Oikawa’s eyes are.

“Are you interested?”

Oikawa startles, whipping around with wide eyes, a hand on his chest. “Iwa-chan, you scared me! Talk about giving me a heart attack!”

“I would, but you don’t have a heart. Just an inflated ego,” Iwaizumi says, his mouth curving up at the indignant expression that Oikawa makes.

“Rude, Iwa-chan!”

Iwaizumi looks away from the pout on Oikawa’s face, glancing at the poster then back at Oikawa. He asks again, “So, are you interested in volleyball?”

Oikawa shakes his head. “No, I’m not.”

Iwaizumi lightly frowns, thinking of the expression that he made earlier, just a moment ago. While he’s not sure what that look was, he thinks it means something and presses, “Are you sure? You were staring hard at the poster.”

“That’s because,” Oikawa slips on a teasing smile and points at a team photo, his finger aimed right below a beaming face, “I can’t believe that’s you, Iwa-chan! Look how cute you are.” He jokes, “What happened to you?”

Following his finger, Iwaizumi sees the photo in question, and it’s a good one. In the photo, he is grinning from ear-to-ear and a little pink-faced from exertion, standing in the middle of his teammates as everyone huddled together for the picture. It was taken after the team had won straight sets against a strong rival school, and everyone was in high spirits, especially Iwaizumi who had scored the winning point with his powerful spike.

Recalling the memory, Iwaizumi smiles to himself and says half-heartedly, “Shut up, Shittykawa.”

“Wow, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa says, marveling at him with wide eyes, “you’re like a whole new person when you smile.” He teases, “Hit me more with that soft smile.”

“I’ll hit you for real if you don’t quit being an ass,” Iwaizumi grumbles, raising a fist towards Oikawa’s face, knowing that’s his greatest weakness because of how vain he is. There’s no real intent, but he feels a sense of satisfaction when Oikawa takes a step back, raising his hands up placatingly.

“Now, now, no need to get violent, Iwa-chan. I’m complimenting you,” Oikawa says with an obnoxious grin. “You pass for decent when you don’t scowl. But right now, you’re bringing out your frown lines with that face.”

“That’s because I’m looking at you.”

Oikawa huffs, “Excuse you, Iwa-chan.” He flips his hair, a smug smile splaying across his face. “I know I’m good-looking. Don’t be jealous, it’s unbecoming.”

“Fuck off,” Iwaizumi groans, the urge to punch him becoming very real and tempting. “If you’re not interested in volleyball, then let’s go. We have a lot to explore.” He grabs the front of Oikawa’s shirt and begins to drag him, ignoring his protests as he leads them back into the crowd.

They stop by a variety of clubs, slowly making their way around through all sections. Oikawa doesn’t sign up for anything despite showing promise for some clubs—he demonstrated impressive accuracy at the archery club, shooting a bullseye on his second try, and produced beautiful handwork at the calligraphy club, adorning kanji with purposeful curls and broad strokes and even making English, the mash of letters that would look like chicken scratch to Iwaizumi, appear more elegant. Nothing seems to truly pique his interest but when they reach the culinary section, Oikawa makes a beeline for the mochi club.

Iwaizumi plops down on a bench, leaning back against it as he lets out a sigh of relief, grateful to have his weight off his feet. He feels worn out from the past hour, a whirlwind of Oikawa tugging him here and there, but not in a bad way. As he tilts his head back, gazing at the moving clouds while he waits for Oikawa, it occurs to him that he has visited more clubs today with Oikawa than he has on his own in the past years combined. That’s something notable.

A moment later, he hears upbeat humming and looks over, watching Oikawa come back with a paper plate piled up with an assortment of sweets, a pleased smile on his face. Without being asked, Iwaizumi scooches over and Oikawa sits down next to him, daintily crossing his ankles as he picks up a mochi to eat.

“Here, Iwa-chan. Have one,” Oikawa offers, extending the plate out to him while he finishes his mochi. 

“No thanks, not really into sweets.”

Oikawa licks his fingers as he tilts his head towards Iwaizumi. He teases, “I’m not surprised. You don’t strike me as a sweet person anyway.”

Iwaizumi scoffs, “As if you’re one, Shittykawa.” He frowns at the plate and adds, his tone chiding, “Don’t eat all that or your teeth’s gonna be as rotten as your personality.”

“Iwa-chan, are you my mom?” Oikawa asks, rolling his eyes as he defiantly takes a bite out of another mochi with custard filling. “As an upcoming member of the mochi club, I must show my dedication.”

Iwaizumi raises a brow, feeling a bit surprised. “Why the mochi club? I thought you would be into…” He shrugs, not sure of the inkling that he had. There’s nothing wrong with the mochi club, but it’s not exactly the first thing that he imagined Oikawa would be interested in.

“Mmm _,”_ Oikawa hums, musing out loud, “well for starters, we don’t have a mochi club at my uni, and I like sweets so.” He shrugs, most likely thinking his reasons are self-explanatory, but then he adds, “It’s something different from what I was previously doing. I guess I want a change of pace.”

Iwaizumi straightens up in his seat, understanding exactly what Oikawa means. “Me too,” he says, “that’s actually why I signed up for this volunteer program.” He turns to look at Oikawa properly and chuckles. “I wanted to do something new, spice up my routine. Funny how we got paired up then.”

And as Oikawa turns to him, mirroring his expression with a half-eaten mochi in his hands, Iwaizumi thinks he and Oikawa may be more alike than he originally thought.

“Looks like we’re meant to be partners, Iwa-chan.”

“Yeah, you can say that.”

**________________**

Over the next couple of days, their texting steadily increases, becoming frequent as Oikawa shifts from asking simple questions _(where’s the science building? lol)_ to pestering Iwaizumi about what he’s doing _(what are u up to?? n don’t say studying)_ to sharing minutiae of his day ( _saw this grumpy cat n it reminded me of u hahah)_ in the message thread.

Iwaizumi doesn’t notice this change until a week later when he wakes up one morning, instinctively reaching for his phone, expecting to see a text sent after he fell asleep from Oikawa (who he discovered has a terrible habit of staying up late), and finds nothing, his phone empty of new messages. The slight stab of disappointment that he feels is alarming and fully wakes him up, making him realize how accustomed he has become to seeing Oikawa’s name flash across his screen following each _ping_.

Not only that, seeing Oikawa in-person becomes common. Even though their schedules don’t align, with Oikawa frequenting one side of campus and Iwaizumi another, they would sometimes meet during their brief overlaps to grab a meal or a snack, often designating the university café as their rendezvous. But lately they’ve been meeting up more, and Iwaizumi partly blames it on Oikawa sending him whiny, demanding messages that tend to go like this:

 **Oikawa:** _Iwa-chan, come eat with me! I’m getting lonely_ (⌯˃̶᷄ ﹏ ˂̶᷄⌯)

 **Iwaizumi:** _dumbass I can’t, I’m still in class_

 **Oikawa:** _it’s okay!! I can wait for u_ \\(´ ∀ `)/

_I’m at uni cafe_

_come comeee_

**Iwaizumi:** _ugh fine, save me a seat_

_I’ll be there in 20_

**Oikawa:** ヾ(＾∇＾)d

But also, Iwaizumi notices that he’s becoming reluctant to say no to Oikawa, which may be concerning but he brushes it off, not wanting to overanalyze it. He chalks it up to the fact that he’s developing a tolerance for Oikawa-induced annoyances.

And despite his grating personality, Oikawa does have some redeeming qualities. Sometimes when they meet up, Oikawa brings things for Iwaizumi like another packaged bread that he got alongside his milk bread or a can of juice from a combo deal, proving he is capable of being nice and considerate. 

Though this time, he brings something else.

Iwaizumi blinks at the small package neatly wrapped in a fabric with printed stars and moons on the table, clueless to what it is and the purpose for it. The moment he had sat down at their usual spot in uni café, Oikawa pushed it towards him without an explanation besides a simple ‘for you.’ Iwaizumi glances across the table at Oikawa, arching a brow.

“What is it?”

Oikawa shrugs, feigning ignorance as he fights a smile. “Open it and find out, Iwa-chan.”

Curious, Iwaizumi quickly undoes the knot and unwraps the package like it’s a present, anticipation filling him as the fabric falls away to reveal a frosted container. Carefully, he removes the lid and then gapes, his jaw slacking in surprise. Inside the container lies six smooth doughy balls that are arranged in a flower shape, each one lightly dusted with powder.

Iwaizumi looks back at Oikawa, feeling tongue-tied. “Did you…?”

Oikawa beams, the smile imbued with pride. “Yup,” he says, “I made them for you. They’re strawberry daifuku with red bean filling. I adjusted the sugar level for you so they’re mildly sweet.”

“Shit, thanks…They look good,” Iwaizumi says, gazing at the mochis with awe, stunned by the fact that Oikawa handmade them and tailored their sweetness level for him. The mochis also look fresh with their vibrant pink color, so Oikawa must have made them recently.

“Try one, Iwa-chan! I didn’t go through the effort of making them for you to just stare.”

Iwaizumi nods and chooses the center piece to eat first, lifting it to his mouth. He takes a bite and almost sighs out loud, feeling the urge to close his eyes in bliss as strawberry and red bean melt in his mouth. The taste is delicious, the sweetness not cloying but right at the level that Iwaizumi likes.

Damn, Oikawa outdid himself. His mochis taste way better than store-bought ones and suit Iwaizumi’s taste buds almost too well. Iwaizumi finishes the treat in two bites and casts a glance at the remaining mochis, debating whether he should eat more or save them.

“How is it?” Oikawa asks eagerly, peering at him. 

“It tastes good,” Iwaizumi says, not bothering to joke about it.

He’s still astonished by the fact that Oikawa voluntarily made food for him, a meaningful gesture that only a handful of people have done for him, so he won’t make light of it. And while Iwaizumi won’t mention it for the sake of his pride, he begrudgingly admits to himself that he’s touched. Deciding to show it, he demolishes another mochi in a few bites, planning on finishing all of them in front of Oikawa.

A large smile stretches across Oikawa’s face as he shifts to rest his face on a hand, fingers curled in. He looks smug but more so elated, watching Iwaizumi enjoy his handiwork with satisfaction. “I’m glad Iwa-chan,” he says, “now I can add cooking to my long list of credentials. Call me a chef!”

“I’ll still call you a dumbass,” Iwaizumi says, reaching for a third piece to eat.

“Rude, Iwa-chan!” Oikawa pouts. “Is that how you show your gratitude? After all the blood, sweat, and tears that I spilled into making—"

“If any of your bodily fluids are in this,” Iwaizumi interrupts, pinching his half-eaten mochi with a dead set expression, “I’ll puke right now.”

Oikawa rolls his eyes. “Relax, Iwa-chan, it’s just a phrase,” he says, but then his eyes gleam, his lips lifting into a suggestive smile, and he purrs, “but I’ll have you know, I taste delicious.” He winks. “You wouldn’t puke, you’d swallow.”

It takes a second for Iwaizumi to process his words before his jaw slackens for the second time as heat washes over him like a tidal wave, the tips of his ears burning hot. He fiercely glares at Oikawa, his cheeks flushed and weakening the effect, and manages to say without choking, “No, I’d spit because you’re disgusting.”

Instead of being put down like Iwaizumi expects, Oikawa reacts the opposite. He grins impishly. “Wanna bet?”

Iwaizumi splutters, his blush worsening. The conversation is devolving and heading towards a dangerous direction, and he’s not about to screw himself over (not that he wants to screw Oikawa either— _or so he thinks_ ). He knows Oikawa is messing with him, trying to push his buttons like he usually does, yet it’s hard to tell if Oikawa’s being serious or not so he doesn’t take any chances. 

“ _No,_ but you can bet I’ll fling this at you,” Iwaizumi snaps, weaponizing his half-eaten mochi.

Oikawa laughs, crossing his arms in a ‘x’ formation in front of his face. “No, Iwa-chan! Don’t waste my hard work!”

“Then stop being an insufferable asshole!”

"Okay, okay, truce then,” Oikawa says, laughter still in his voice as he lowers his arms. He smiles blithely. “I’ll stop teasing for now, and you can go back to enjoying my mochis like they’re the best thing you’ve ever eaten!”

“Tch, you’re giving yourself too much credit, Shittykawa,” Iwaizumi grumbles. He plops the unfinished mochi into his mouth, secretly glad that he didn’t have to actually throw it—it would have been a waste, even if it smacked nicely against Oikawa’s face.

“Am I?” Oikawa points out gleefully, “You’ve already eaten half of them, Iwa-chan.”

Iwaizumi groans, miffed that his earlier decision is backfiring on him. “You know what? You can have the rest back.” He pushes the container towards Oikawa.

“No backsies!” Oikawa exclaims, pushing the container back to him. “They’re all for you, Iwa-chan.”

A small pause, then Oikawa says in a soft voice, “But honestly, Iwa-chan, I’m glad you like my cooking.” He beams brilliantly at Iwaizumi, showcasing teeth. “It makes me happy.”

A breath catches in Iwaizumi’s throat. Maybe it’s because Oikawa is displaying sincerity, a rare occurrence, or that smile, but Iwaizumi stills as he takes in Oikawa, an unfamiliar fluttering sensation in his chest.

**________________**

Somewhere along the way, Iwaizumi goes from showing Oikawa around to hanging out with Oikawa. It’s an imperceptible but significant change that goes unnoticed, because Iwaizumi at this point is used to spending his free time, particularly his weekends, doing something with Oikawa. They’ve started to explore eateries that both of them haven’t been to, and the latest is the new yakiniku place that opened right outside of campus.

Since it’s opening weekend for the restaurant, every item on the menu is half-priced so Iwaizumi and Oikawa don’t hold back, ordering several appetizers, three large platters of various meat cuts, and more. But even for two grown, college boys, they overestimated themselves and ordered way too much, now suffering the penalty with overstuffed stomachs, both of them bursting at the seams.

Iwaizumi sinks into the booth, wondering whether or not he should undo the top button of his jeans. He pats his belly and looks over at Oikawa to see how he’s doing. Unsurprisingly, Oikawa seems to be in a similar bloated state, his hands clutching his stomach as he exhales loudly.

“I’m so fullll,” Oikawa says, his head lolling to the side. “I wanna take off my pants.”

Iwaizumi snorts. “Don’t, that’s public indecency. And you’ll scar everyone.” But lowkey he can relate, his own stomach heavy and protruding in an uncomfortable way. He furtively unbuttons his jeans and sighs in relief.

“Yeah, right. Everyone would be gone for me once they see my ass,” Oikawa says confidently, at which Iwaizumi scoffs at. He twists in his seat, trying to get more comfortable, and adds with a sad sigh, “I think I’ll pass on dessert.”

“Oh? That’s a shocker.”

Oikawa huffs, “I would have room if _someone_ didn’t keep giving me vegetables like a mom.” He shoots a pointed look at Iwaizumi as he pushes his bowl aside.

“Which you didn’t finish,” Iwaizumi remarks dryly, glancing at the uneaten pieces of onion in Oikawa’s bowl. He had put them there, thinking Oikawa should eat them for his own good.

“Don’t like them,” Oikawa says petulantly, aware of his line of vision.

“You’re so picky.” Iwaizumi shakes his head like he’s baffled. “It’s a wonder how you grew so tall.”

More like it’s a mystery how Oikawa gets all his nutrients. From what Iwaizumi saw, it was obvious that Oikawa favored the greens, hogging the green peppers and broccoli, but disregarded the rest, essentially leaving Iwaizumi with the veggies that he disliked. It’s a good thing that Iwaizumi isn’t picky, otherwise the grill would have become a battlefield.

“Is that jealousy that I detect?” Oikawa sing-songs, his mouth a slanted grin.

“No, it’s disbelief,” Iwaizumi deadpans, and when Oikawa shifts closer to the table to rest his elbows, he notices the speck of sauce on the corner of Oikawa’s mouth. “Hey,” he says, sitting up straight, “you have something right there—”

Not thinking about it, Iwaizumi leans forward and wipes away the speck with his thumb, briefly brushing Oikawa’s bottom lip in passing. It’s over in an instant, but it takes a few seconds for both of them to process it. Oikawa blinks and touches the spot where the speck was with a finger, his cheeks pinking, while Iwaizumi gulps, his stomach beginning to churn as he realizes he just touched Oikawa, specifically his face, so casually and intimately, mindless of personal space. They stare at each other for a moment, speechless. 

It’s ironic. Usually it’s Oikawa who would be neglectful of personal space, breaching personal boundaries without a second thought, not Iwaizumi. Though, that seems to be changing these days. It’s not a big deal, Iwaizumi convinces himself, trying to play it off as one of those harmless, friendly touches that Oikawa always initiates. Except not really, he knows what Oikawa’s bottom lip feels like now.

Iwaizumi coughs and turns, grabbing the bill their server had left to distract himself. “I got it,” he mumbles, referring to the speck, but Oikawa misunderstands.

“Eh? You’re paying, Iwa-chan?”

He still feels off-kilter and something tells him to go with it, so Iwaizumi decides on the spot, “Yeah, sure. My treat.” Thankfully, the bill isn’t outrageous.

Oikawa looks pleasantly surprised for a second before he narrows his eyes, voice suspicious. “Wait, why? Is this a trick? Like a ‘hey you owe me later’ kind of thing?”

Iwaizumi rolls his eyes. “No, why would I do that? I’m not a crappy guy.”

“That’s true,” Oikawa says, his lips curling into a large, grateful smile, “thank you, Iwa-chan! So sweet. You grilled the food, gave me good pieces, and now you’re paying?” He chortles. “What a date.”

Oikawa has to be teasing. Iwaizumi knows he is, but his heart skipped a beat when Oikawa said _date._ They’re not on one, yet Iwaizumi realizes their outing is reminiscent of a date with the way he has been acting gentlemanly. He did take over grilling unprompted and carefully cooked the meat and vegetables to fit both his and Oikawa’s tastes, and he did serve Oikawa first before himself a few times, placing fat, juicy pieces of meat into Oikawa’s bowl when he could have taken them for himself. And now, he is unexpectedly treating Oikawa when they would previously split the bill? That is a game-changing move.

Iwaizumi wants to give Oikawa a memorable, authentic Japanese BBQ experience that he can’t replicate in the States, but he might be giving off the wrong impression instead. He should clarify to Oikawa just in case.

Or not.

Iwaizumi merely snorts. “Come on,” he says, not looking at Oikawa as he slides out of the booth. “Let’s go.”

Following through, he treats Oikawa and shoves his wallet back into his pocket as they walk out of the restaurant, listening to Oikawa hum happily. It’s getting late now, the sun beginning to set, and Iwaizumi thinks they should part ways here since there’s a nearby train station that he can use to get home. He’s about to call out to Oikawa who’s in front of him when Oikawa abruptly turns to face him, fiddling with the hem of his shirt.

“Hey, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa says, sounding oddly shy. His eyes flit to the side then to Iwaizumi. “I live ten minutes from here. Do you want to come over?”

 _No, I should get going,_ Iwaizumi thinks. He still has pressing assignments to do that are due very, very soon. An essay to finish. Problems to solve. He shouldn’t push them off any longer.

“Sure,” Iwaizumi says.

**________________**

Oikawa’s apartment was arranged by his study abroad program, so it figures that Oikawa gets hooked with a place that’s beyond a student budget. The apartment is nice and spacious, levels above Iwaizumi’s cramp apartment. It’s equipped with high-quality appliances and furnished with modern, sleek decor that makes the place look new yet homey. There’s even a mini balcony.

Iwaizumi toes his shoes off in the genkan, hesitant to walk around while Oikawa waltzes into the place like he actually owns it. He stands there for a moment, gazing around and feeling a little out of place. It’s clear that Oikawa has settled in, traces of him scattered around the apartment—Oikawa’s shoes lined neatly by the door, a potted plant with floppy leaves on the windowsill, candy wrappers left on the coffee table, a fragrant, minty smell that Iwaizumi has come to associate with Oikawa in the air. Oikawa notices his awkwardness and laughs, gesturing for him to come in.

“Make yourself at home, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa says warmly as he heads to the kitchen to get them water.

Iwaizumi grunts and moves to the living room where a large flat screen TV is. He makes himself comfy on the couch, leaning against the plush cushions as he turns the TV on. A sports entertainment show appears, the kind where competitors are challenged to complete difficult obstacle courses, and Iwaizumi finds himself getting into it. He hardly notices Oikawa approaching until the couch sinks under his weight and he feels Oikawa’s body heat tingling his skin. 

“What are we watching?” Oikawa asks, placing the cups of water on the coffee table. He sits down next to Iwaizumi, putting his feet up on the table edge, and shifts closer to him, their shoulders almost touching.

“Some sporty show,” Iwaizumi mumbles.

They watch as a buff guy gripping a metal bar swing his body back and forth, trying to gain momentum, and propel himself forward to grab the next bar only to miss and fall into the water, a loud beep signaling his defeat. The guy splashes water angrily as he wades to land where an interviewer waits.

Oikawa turns his head to Iwaizumi, raising a brow. “Do you think you could do that?”

“Yeah, I think so,” Iwaizumi says, confident in his upper body strength. He unintentionally flexes his biceps as he imagines himself swinging from bar to bar successfully.

The movement doesn’t go unnoticed. Oikawa’s eyes trail down his biceps as he hums, “Mhm, I think you could too.” His vote of confidence makes Iwaizumi bite back a smirk.

Minutes pass, and they continue to watch the show, exchanging commentary here and there. Iwaizumi isn’t sure what they’re supposed to do or what Oikawa had in mind, but he’s not complaining with the way things are turning out, content to lazily pass time with Oikawa. They lapse into a comfortable silence, and it’s not long before he feels a weight falling on his shoulder. Iwaizumi looks over, eyes widening as he sees Oikawa dozing on him, his eyes closed and mouth slightly open. His food coma must have kicked in.

Iwaizumi hovers a hand uncertainly over Oikawa’s head. He doesn’t gently push Oikawa off him; instead, he lightly adjusts Oikawa so his neck won’t get a crick and relaxes, letting his shoulders droop to better accommodate Oikawa. Carefully, Iwaizumi reaches for the remote and lowers the TV volume. With the muted sounds, he can pick up on Oikawa’s soft breathing.

Strangely enough, Iwaizumi doesn’t feel his own food coma, rather he’s wide-awake and alert.

He tries to keep watching TV, but his attention strays back to Oikawa effortlessly. As Iwaizumi stares at Oikawa, admiring the slope of his nose, the length of his long lashes, the way his hair falls over his eyes, it dawns on him that he’s _comfortable_ like this, that he doesn’t want to move. Which is startling because that doesn’t seem right.

Shouldn’t he feel somewhat uncomfortable or repulsed that someone is literally slumped against him and breathing on him, blatantly invading his precious personal space and using him as a pillow when there’s a real pillow available? He doesn’t, not at all—instead, Iwaizumi feels serene, sitting there as he is. The thought of untangling himself doesn’t cross his mind.

Because it’s not just someone— _it’s Oikawa._ Oikawa is the one leaning against him and resting his head on him.

But what does that mean?

Iwaizumi sucks in a harsh breath as he realizes what this situation says about him. It hits him that he’s reveling in Oikawa’s proximity, enjoying every bit of it, more than he should maybe. But it’s not only that, there’s something else. He’s on the cusp of figuring it out and when Oikawa buries himself further into Iwaizumi, his lips brushing against Iwaizumi’s bare skin and releasing a soft moan that raises fine hairs, Iwaizumi shivers as an irrepressible thrill shoots through him, igniting his insides.

The feeling dissipates, but it leaves his heart pounding, stomach clenched, and more alarmingly, the thought of Oikawa moaning in another setting in its wake. That thought speaks volumes and forces everything into perspective.

Releasing a shaky breath, Iwaizumi arrives to a conclusion that he doesn’t want to admit.

**________________**

Meiji Jingu is one of the few tourist places that Iwaizumi likes so when Oikawa told him that he hasn’t been there yet despite being in Japan for nearly a month, he gave Oikawa a determined look and declared that’s their next destination.

They go to Meiji Jingu on a Saturday, arriving right after opening hour to beat the oncoming rush of tourists. It’s a hot, bright morning so Iwaizumi dressed light, donning a white shirt that’s half-tucked into black cargo shorts, his trusty black fanny pack slung across his chest. He thinks Oikawa misread the weather forecast, because he shows up sporting a long-sleeve blue sweatshirt with the words “more than dope” emblazoned on it over fitting beige pants, clothing that seems to contrast his attire in both color and seasonality.

“Iwa-chan, it’s called being fashionable,” Oikawa says loftily, smoothing his top, after Iwaizumi questioned his outfit. “We’re going to be taking pictures, so I have to look good.” He pretends to strike a pose and winks.

Iwaizumi gives him a bland look as they walk towards the entrance to Meiji Jingu. “Don’t assume I’m taking pictures for you,” he remarks, although he’s well aware that he’ll end up doing so.

From past experiences, Iwaizumi has learned that showing Oikawa around also means being his personal photographer. It won’t be long before Oikawa shoves his phone into his hands, demanding for Iwaizumi to take several photos of him at certain angles while he strikes varying poses, many of which would piss Iwaizumi off because of how haughty Oikawa looks. 

Oikawa doesn’t respond, too distracted by the towering torii gate that marks the entrance, his head craning up to gaze at all of it. His mouth parts in awe, and Iwaizumi smirks, thinking he should whip out his phone to snap a picture of that dumbstruck face, but he can relate; he felt the same awe when he first visited Meiji Jingu back in his first year of college.

As they continue on the forested pathway that leads to the main shrine compound, Iwaizumi feels a sense of peace settling over him, and this is what he likes about Meiji Jingu, aside from the cool torii gates and enchanting historical shrines. Maybe it’s because they’re inside a naturesque area, where the air is cooler and city life seems faraway, but Iwaizumi relaxes and barely makes a fuss when Oikawa, as expected, hands him his phone for a picture before running off to pose by the wall display of sake barrels.

“Make sure I’m not blurry!” Oikawa shouts, cupping his mouth.

“Shut up, I know,” Iwaizumi shouts back at him, holding the phone vertically and tapping twice on Oikawa’s face to focus. “Ready? Smile and don’t look ugly!” He snaps a few pictures and then holds the phone out, waiting for Oikawa to take it back.

Oikawa grabs his phone and scrolls through the photos, looking pleased at the way they turned out. He hums approvingly. “Wow, Iwa-chan. These are better than your last amateur shots. Much better.”

Iwaizumi shoots him a flat look, crossing his arms. “Why do your compliments sound shitty?”

“What? But I mean it!” Oikawa pouts, placing his hands on his hips. “You should feel flattered, Iwa-chan. It’s not every day that I compliment someone.”

“Alright, thanks,” Iwaizumi says sarcastically, turning to walk on, “I feel honored.”

“Wait, Iwa-chan!” Oikawa reaches out for him, slinging an arm around his shoulders and stopping Iwaizumi in place. “Let’s take a selfie,” he suggests.

There isn’t any room for refusal, because Oikawa already has his phone in hand and ready, positioned horizontally in front of them to capture both of their faces, the sake barrels in the background. Oikawa grins widely as his free hand makes a peace sign besides Iwaizumi’s shoulders. 

Going along with it, Iwaizumi grins and rests a hand on Oikawa’s back as he looks at the camera, the phone screen now showing identical grins. Oikawa takes the picture and Iwaizumi thinks that’s it, but then he changes pose and takes another, and another, and the last photo that he snaps depicts Iwaizumi breaking away with an annoyed expression, his mouth open in mid-speech.

The rest of the trip can be summed up in similar pictures, a range from solo shots of either Oikawa or Iwaizumi to both of them together grinning with differing backdrops from the Meiji Shrine area. Aside from taking pictures and exploring, they also express their wishes; Oikawa writes on an ema while Iwaizumi tosses coins into the offering box and says a prayer. Iwaizumi finishes first so he goes to browse charms. While he’s not superstitious, he believes there is some intangible benefit to owning charms and buys a good fortune charm (besides, he got the study charm last time and he has yet to fail anything).

After stowing his purchase into his fanny pack, he walks over to Oikawa who’s in the middle of buying his and notices his selection—a relationship charm and a health charm—before the shrine maiden places them into a bag. Iwaizumi holds back a chuckle, finding it ironic that even someone as self-assured and suave as Oikawa would want divine support for his love life. But the latter charm gives Iwaizumi pause, because it’s not the standard one that wishes for good health and longevity, rather for full recovery.

For some reason, the health charm stays on Iwaizumi’s mind, even after they leave Meiji Jingu and wander into Yoyogi park. They’re sitting on a bench next to each other with ice cream in their hands—a matcha soft serve cone in Iwaizumi’s and a brown sugar ice cream bar in Oikawa’s—when it comes up.

“Hey, Iwa-chan. Can I try a little bit of yours?”

“Yeah, sure.”

Iwaizumi offers his cone to him, and Oikawa leans over to give a generous lick, his tongue cleanly swiping off the entire tip of the ice cream swirl. Pulling the cone back, Iwaizumi gapes at the plateau left by Oikawa, a third of his ice cream gone, stolen by a single lick.

“What the fuck, Shittykawa? That wasn’t little." He glares at Oikawa, feeling cheated.

“Sorry not sorry.” Oikawa giggles, licking his ice cream bar with an uncontrite expression. “But you can try mine, Iwa-chan,” he says, presenting his treat like a peace offering.

Rolling his eyes, Iwaizumi bends over and bites a chunk off his ice cream bar (an actual small amount in comparison to what Oikawa did), tasting overwhelming sweetness from the brown sugar syrup. The taste isn’t unpleasant, but he still prefers his more bitter matcha flavor and resumes eating his ice cream. But as Iwaizumi licks the flat top of his ice cream, right where Oikawa’s tongue last was, he belatedly realizes they just had indirect kisses.

Heat creeps up the back of his neck at that juvenile thought, and Iwaizumi glances at Oikawa, who seems unperturbed as he continues to eat his ice cream, his eyes automatically falling on Oikawa’s mouth. His lips are shiny and parted, and Iwaizumi watches his tongue dart out to lick his ice cream bar, sliding upwards against the side in a smooth glide before flicking over the tip, the ice cream bar becoming more elongated under his tongue’s ministrations.

A heated feeling begins to stir inside Iwaizumi as he continues to stare, entranced. Oikawa draws back his tongue, humming lowly as he pushes the ice cream bar into his mouth, nearly all of it, before pulling it out with a pop sound. His tongue reappears to lick the corners of his mouth, wetting his lips with saliva, and Iwaizumi swallows, his free hand clenching into a fist by his thighs as heat coils in the pit of his stomach. Fuck, he needs to tear his gaze away and just when he’s about to, Oikawa suddenly turns, catching his eye.

“What’s wrong Iwa-chan?” Oikawa asks, tilting his head to the side. “Your ice cream’s melting.”

Iwaizumi snaps his attention back to his cone—shit, it is melting—and he hurriedly licks away the trails of runny ice cream that threaten to drip onto his hand and shorts, hearing Oikawa’s amused laughter in the background. He fights back a fierce blush as embarrassment washes over him, a different heat engulfing him now.

“Did you space out, Iwa-chan?” From Oikawa’s tone, it’s obvious that he knows Iwaizumi did, so he follows it up with, “What were you thinking about?” Oikawa stares at him expectantly as he licks his ice cream stick clean.

“Uh, I was,” Iwaizumi says, inwardly swearing at himself, “um, give me a sec.” There’s no fucking way he is going to admit what flittered through his mind only seconds ago, but he can’t think of a suitable response so he tries to stall, quickly finishing his ice cream while his mind scrambles for a topic. Then as if stumbling upon the solution to his problems, he recalls the health charm.

After chewing the last bit of his cone, Iwaizumi clears his throat and lies, “I was thinking about your health charm.”

Oikawa blinks, confusion written across his face. “Uh, what about it?”

“Well, the charm is for a full recovery so,” Iwaizumi hesitates, motioning to him vaguely, “are you sick or something...?” It had crossed his mind that Oikawa might be, because usually people who get health charms face some sort of health crisis.

But it seems like a silly conclusion here since Oikawa laughs and shakes his head, looking at Iwaizumi with mirthful eyes. “You’re overthinking it, Iwa-chan. Don’t do that, your brain’s not made for it.”

Not amused, Iwaizumi scowls and punches Oikawa’s closet arm, a solid hit that earns him a whine from Oikawa.

“Oww, Iwa-chan! Hold back, will you?”

“Jerkkawa, I was being serious. Can’t believe I worried over you.”

“Aw, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa coos, smiling, “I’m touched. But really, I’m healthy. I’m in peak condition.” Then he pauses, his expression dropping as he presses his lips together. He murmurs, “Well actually, the last one isn’t true anymore.”

“What do you mean?”

Sighing, Oikawa fiddles with his ice cream stick before setting it aside. “I tore my right knee last spring,” he reveals, speaking levelly, “and although it’s fully healed, it’s not the same. I can’t play sports because of it.”

Flashbacks of Oikawa staring at the volleyball poster and his strange expression from weeks ago at the Club Fair surface in Iwaizumi’s mind, and he suddenly makes the connections, thinking that expression might have been yearning. But he could be completely wrong so he tentatively asks, “Did you play volleyball?”

Oikawa gives a small smile. “Yeah, I used to be a setter.” He splays his fingers against his knees, staring down at them, and continues, “I love volleyball, it was my life. I was on a scholarship for it but after my knee injury, it got cancelled, along with my plans for going pro.”

Not hearing an immediate response, Oikawa peers at Iwaizumi, shaking his head as he squeezes his knees. “Don’t look at me like that, Iwa-chan.” He shrugs, letting out a laugh that doesn’t reach his eyes. “I’m over it now.”

Iwaizumi frowns, unconvinced. He can see past the nonchalant front that Oikawa is putting up, hearing the rueful undertone in his voice and noticing the slight dip in his shoulders. A niggling feeling tells him that he shouldn’t play along, that he shouldn’t let Oikawa downplay this, so he pats Oikawa on the back and holds his gaze.

“Hey,” Iwaizumi says, his voice gentle, “don’t force yourself to be okay. You’re not fooling me. Besides, that kind of devastation isn’t easy to handle.”

“Yeah, it wasn’t,” Oikawa admits softly, taking his words to heart and letting himself be honest, “the physical pain from my knee didn’t hurt as much as the disappointment. It was hard trying to figure out myself afterwards.” 

Taking a deep breath, he cracks a grin. “But I can’t say everything went bad, because without volleyball going on, I gained more free time and the ability to study abroad so here I am now, telling you my sob story.” Oikawa lightly teases, “Are you moved, Iwa-chan?”

His shift to lighthearted tone dispels the pensive mood that had settled over them, and Iwaizumi feels the tightness in his chest alleviating, relieved to see Oikawa returning to his usual self. Oikawa isn’t one to show weakness, so it’s not lost on Iwaizumi that Oikawa willingly shared his vulnerable side with him, being open and raw in a way that he hasn’t before. The moment is precious, and he savors it, appreciating the details from the warmth of the sunlight to the comforting weight of Oikawa against him.

He claps Oikawa on the shoulder and chuckles. “You’re better at being an asshole than a mope.”

Oikawa pouts. “Is that supposed to make me feel better or worse?”

Iwaizumi grins. “It’s a compliment so better.” Then he looks at Oikawa seriously and says, “But you know, you can still do a lot with volleyball even if you don’t play on court. You don’t have to cut it out of your life.”

A slow smile spreads on Oikawa’s face. He quips, “Iwa-chan, you’re an optimist, aren’t you?”

“And you’re not?” Iwaizumi asks, but it comes out like a statement. He chuckles. “I guess you’re not bright enough.”

“So mean, Iwa-chan!” Oikawa bumps his shoulder against Iwaizumi’s in mock anger before angling his body to face him, smiling slyly. “But Iwa-chan, I’ll admit something,” he says.

“What?” Iwaizumi asks, raising a brow.

“I’m glad to have met you.”

It’s a heartfelt statement, spoken with unmistakable honesty, and Iwaizumi who was expecting some clever quip or gibe is thrown off guard, his eyes widening. A warm feeling blooms inside him and spreads through him like wildfire, bringing color to his cheeks.

“W-where is this coming from?” Iwaizumi stammers out, his face hot.

Oikawa laughs against the back of his hand. “Thought you should know,” he says, “even though you’re a mean brute, I’m grateful to be partnered with you. You’re the first friend that I made here.”

Iwaizumi rubs his neck, averting his eyes to the side. “God, Oikawa, you’re being embarrassing.” He can feel Oikawa grinning at him, enjoying his flustered state, and when his eyes flit back to Oikawa, indeed, he has an amused grin on. Ignoring that and the hammering in his chest, Iwaizumi murmurs, “But same. You’re a damn handful but…you’ve grown on me. I like having you around me.”

It’s hard to say who’s more embarrassed now—Iwaizumi, because he just realized how true and earnest his words are, or Oikawa, who’s blushing brightly with wide eyes.

**________________**

Later that night, Oikawa sends him several messages while he’s in the shower. After changing into his sleepwear, which consists of only black trunks, Iwaizumi towels his hair as he reads the new texts. The first is an actual message that says,

_Iwa-channn, I had a good time today!!_

_was fun n we did so much!_

_also u were so nice to me today hehee_ (o˘◡˘o)

The rest are pictures of them from their time at Meiji Jingu. Iwaizumi snorts at Oikawa’s message but then smiles when he glances at the image below, the only one he can see without scrolling down on his phone. It’s a selfie of them, the first one they took with the sake barrels, and it came out really well, the sunlight framing their faces at the right angles, their grins wide and bright. The other pictures also came out nice (though Oikawa looks stupidly photogenic in all of them), and Iwaizumi saves all of them to his gallery.

After responding to Oikawa, he sets his phone and his towel aside on the nightstand and lies down on his bed, hands behind his head. Iwaizumi stares at his ceiling, his thoughts drifting towards Oikawa on their own. It seems impossible to not think of Oikawa, especially after today’s events. Iwaizumi closes his eyes and exhales a deep breath, succumbing to his thoughts as Oikawa occupies his mind yet again.

He thinks back to his conversation with Oikawa, remembering the tender moment. He had meant it, when he said Oikawa had grown on him. Somehow it happened, and Iwaizumi can’t remember what it was like to not have Oikawa by his side, bothering him or bantering with him over dumb things, his mouth spewing crafted insults or teases. 

And that same mouth can also say the sappiest shit that makes Iwaizumi feel…happy (or giddy? whatever that light, pleasant feeling is) and, of course, inspire other feelings.

Iwaizumi keeps his eyes closed and slowly moves a hand down to palm his growing bulge as his thoughts take a downward turn, fixating on Oikawa’s mouth in a different way. He shudders, lazily stroking himself over his trunks as he thinks about the way Oikawa had licked his ice cream, how his tongue slid upwards and around. What ran through his mind earlier reappears; Iwaizumi pictures Oikawa sliding his tongue along his cock instead, from base to head in a languid lick as if Oikawa is teasing, staring at him with a heated, mischievous look, his lips wet with more than just saliva.

_“H-ha, fuck—"_

Lifting his hips, Iwaizumi tugs off his underwear, kicking it to the edge of his bed, and grips his hardening cock, groaning at the bare contact. He rubs himself leisurely, watching his cock become completely hard and leaky before he teases the silt, thumb smearing precum around. Closing his eyes, Iwaizumi imagines slender, pale fingers gripping him instead, wrapped around his cock and stroking hard. Groaning, he picks up pace.

Iwaizumi tilts his head back, squeezing his eyes shut, as he jerks himself faster, rocking his hips in tandem with his rough strokes, desperate for more friction. Slick sounds mixed with his pants fill the air. Heat increasingly pools in his lower half, coiling tight for release, and with his other hand, Iwaizumi plays with his balls, tugging and fondling himself. He groans lowly.

In his mind, Iwaizumi envisions Oikawa sucking him off, his hot, wet mouth taking his cock to the hilt, his nails digging into his thighs as his head bobs furiously—then the fantasy changes as he imagines Oikawa on his back, naked with flushed cheeks and disheveled hair, his long legs hooked on his shoulders, moaning under him as he thrusts hard into him, their mouths almost touching. Their bodies would move in unison and Iwaizumi would spill in—

Turning his head to the side, Iwaizumi bites his pillow to muffle his loud groans. He’s close, his rhythm becoming erratic as his body turns taut, and the thought of Oikawa smiling at him and murmuring, _“Come for me, Iwa-chan”_ pushes him over. He comes hard, spurting over his stomach as pleasure floods him and overwhelms his senses. Breathless, Iwaizumi sags against his bed and slowly opens his eyes, lying there for a moment as he basks in the high.

Soon it ebbs, and Iwaizumi gets up to clean himself, wiping away the mess with his towel, before he slips his trunks back on. Then he flops back onto his bed, faceplanting, and groans potently into his pillow, the sound unlike those that escaped him earlier.

He knows what he just did, but the realization that he has truly crossed a line is hitting him hard now; there’s no going back. A swirl of ambivalent feelings envelops Iwaizumi, guilt and shame somewhere in the turbulence that muddles his mind—but there’s also an undeniable sense of resignation. He turns his head to the side, closing his eyes again as he comes to grips with an inevitable truth that he has been pushing aside for a while, ever since he felt Oikawa’s lips brush against his skin. Iwaizumi lets out a sigh. He knows he can’t ignore it anymore.

He likes Oikawa. And far from a platonic way.

**Author's Note:**

> hi, this idea was so strong in my head but so hard to write down omg. orig I wanted this to be a oneshot but it's gonna be more, lol. i'm just glad to finally release this and let it beee. and shoutout to my dear friend [@_sora_art](https://www.instagram.com/_sora_art/) for her support; she drew the outfits!!  
> [Iwaizumi's](https://www.instagram.com/p/CDzjFRaKzHq/?igshid=f9oht4m0tp4j&fbclid=IwAR3_xjDhFRrEFq0Upr5KgjF_81oNigzk31l0HF7yqY_qta-Qyu1NGIkNei8) , [Oikawa's](https://www.instagram.com/p/CB_q9wBqHn_/?fbclid=IwAR2ZWj17n-EbRpe_DTjxHxlVvH1qXK1X-zriNEveMBC_ocLG72OGLDjtUUk)
> 
> anyway, hope you guys enjoyed this!  
> kudos and comments make my day :)


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